Mr Big and Tall
by Curlycurlz
Summary: In which Catherine is finally sick of the pity party, and Vincent gets a shave. Because the only thing better than makeover stories is GOTHIC ROMANCE MAKEOVER STORIES!


"Ok. Enough."

Catherine had leapt to her feet right in the middle of Vincent's latest philosophical train on the impossibility of his ever cresting the surface. Vincent was shocked.

"Keh-therine, what's the matter? I sense irritation in you."

"You sensed right, as always."

"I hope I am not the cause."

"Alas, you are."

He frowned. She'd never spoken so directly with him before. "May I ask why?"

"Because you lost me somewhere during the metaphor about the thistle in the thornbush, and I'm tired of being lost. Literally. I spend about fifty percent of my time nowadays trying not to get my ass disappeared in these tunnels, I don't have much patience left over to wade through your metaphors."

Vincent opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I didn't mean to upset you," he muttered. Catherine's heart melted, but only a teeny tiny bit.

"Ok, you know what? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you." She sat heavily in the armchair she'd just vacated and leaned forward to talk to him directly. "It's just that I'm pretty sure I was just talking about how fun it would be to go to the premiere of the new Disney film, and suddenly I was in the middle of a profound introspective meditation on human nature and I don't even know how we got there."

"I was just telling you that I wish you would go to the screening, but I could not be your 'plus-one'!"

"I'm not going to the screening, obviously. It's in California and I don't know anyone at Disney. I was just saying it would be fun. It's not my, like, profoundest wish."

"Catherine, you must be honest with me. These feelings of frustration, they're coming from somewhere else. How is work?"

"No, actually, there's nothing more to it than what I just described to you. I'm just annoyed. Can't get more superficial than that."

"Why, Catherine, you are the least superficial person I have ever met! Your heart-"

"All right, I'm going to stop you right there because you have a tendency to go on about my super-duper heart for hours." She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. Vincent just sat there, wounded.

"I didn't realize you were so unhappy with me. You... hid it well."

Catherine looked at him so pityingly. "No, baby, I'm not 'so unhappy'. I just got a bit annoyed right there. It happens."

He stared disbelievingly.

"It happens with all couples. Literally. All."

"Not with us."

"We're living together now, in case you didn't notice." He smiled uncertainly. "It was bound to happen. Actually it's a good sign."

"Why?"

"Because it means we're normal! Er. Sort of. But those stolen minutes, I mean, we never had time to get good and annoyed at each other. It was all so lovey-dovey I'm sure it would have made people sick if they were watching. Or... watch this." She walked right up to him, bent down and kissed him. He moaned in surprise and slid his hand behind her neck. She pulled back. "See, if I had done that back in the stolen-minutes days, well, we would have gone nuts."

Vincent cracked a tiny little smile. She nodded, encouraged.

"Now we just need to work on the dating thing," she said jokingly.

Predictably he didn't get the joke. He got up and started pacing. Catherine rolled her eyes and flopped back into her armchair. "I only wish I could give you that kind of relationship. You know this. But Catherine, it could never be. The clownfish in the school of bass-"

"Ok. Ok. You're doing it again. You need to stop and you need to sit down. I was kidding, you grumbly old ham." He sighed beautifully. "Besides, you're not even..."

She stopped herself and cleared her throat awkwardly. Vincent halted in his tracks and stared at her.

"Go on, Catherine."

"Hm?"

"What is it you wanted to say?"

"Nothing really. I'm not really interested in arguing anymore."

"Catherine."

"What?"

"You must be honest with me. You must trust me that much."

"It's really nothing."

"Catherine."

"Are you enjoying _The Cider House Rules_?"

He swirled in front of her and took a knee. "Please, Catherine. Say what's in your heart."

She blew through her nostrils. "You're not going to drop it, are you?" He shook his head solemnly. "Ok. Uh." She tossed her hair back as she fought for words. "What I was _going_ to say... was... Ok. Here it is. You're not even ugly. There. I said it."

Vincent squinted his eyes. "What?"

"It's just that you're not ugly. You're a beautiful, beautiful man. And don't think I'm being subjective. I'm not. You're strong and... intense... and the only thing that could be considered wrong with your face is the... lion... thing. Which I love. And which, I think, a lot of people would love, if they knew it existed."

Vincent was absolutely dumbstruck, so Catherine just forged ahead.

"Your teeth- well, they are pretty nonstandard. I mean I love them, but it's the one thing that makes the lightbulb go off. So if we were to... I don't know... go to a restaurant, you would have to keep your mouth shut when the waiter walked by to avoid detection or whatever."

He stared some more.

"You could get rid of the fur. Like I said, I love it, but if you really wanted to you could. And then... your hair. I mean really, it's the craziest thing about you." She ran her hands through it. "Have you ever cut it with anything except a knife? You could let me try..."

He took her hands and returned them to her lap. Then he made for the door.

"Vincent! Don't storm out! I'm sorry, I was just being honest!"

"No you weren't, Catherine. It hurts me when you lie for my feelings."

"If you stayed and listened to me, maybe I could convince you otherwise!" She strode over to him and grabbed his shoulder. He pulled away. It infuriated her. "You know what? Fine. Go sit in on the bridge and feel sorry for yourself. I won't be around to stroke your ego, though, because I can never find the damn bridge. If you need me, I'll be right. Here." She grabbed some volume off the table and bent over it petulantly, not realizing until Vincent was gone that it was upside-down.

Said Father from the doorway, "I would have expected a higher degree of sensitivity from you, Catherine."

While he limped into the room, Catherine slammed the tome shut. "Were you listening!"

"I was."

"And what did you hear?"

"Enough."

"Because did you... did you hear the part where I told him he was good-looking? Which is the truth, for god's sake?"

"Yes, I did. But you must understand, Vincent believes so concretely that he is not that hearing such a thing from you sounds to him like a cruel joke." Catherine grunted with exasperation and Father widened his eyes in reproach. "Surely you must know this about him."

"Of course, but it's ridiculous to me that I feel like I have to apologize for paying an honest compliment! Think about it, I mean, do you know how silly that sounds!"

Father thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I suppose it does sound rather silly."

Catherine nodded. Then she shook her head. "All right. I'm over this." She crossed to the armoire and pulled out one of Vincent's shirts. "Do you have a measuring tape?"

Father pulled one out of his pocket and handed it to her. She laid the shirt flat out and began to measure the the incredibly broad shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"I guess I'm going to have to go to a Big & Tall store. I'll tell them he's a body builder. I won't be super wrong either." She folded the shirt, grabbed a pair of pants, and did the same.

"Catherine, what are you intending to do?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I can't allow it. Our laws apply to you just as to anyone."

"So I won't break them." She tossed the garments back into the armoire and turned to face Father. "Contrary to what you may believe, I'm _not _going to go to the store and say, oh, hi, store guy, I'm here to buy an outfit for my lion-man lover who lives in a secret underground Utopia and dresses entirely like a cross between Quasimodo and the Marquis de Sade."

"Catherine, you are on thin ice!"

"I'm sorry, that was brash. But I mean him no harm. I should hope you'd know that by now."

"Catherine-"

"Relax. I'll be back." She grabbed her purse and pushed past Father out into the tunnels, following the little pink bows she'd tied around the pipes as a guide.

When she returned to the mouth of the drainage tunnel, Vincent was waiting for her. He eyed her shopping bags distrustingly. "For some reason I don't believe those are full of dresses."

"Let's go back to our quarters. And if you could do me a huge favour, let's not discuss it until we get there. How are you enjoying _The Cider House Rules_?" And she forced him to discuss the novel until they were standing in front of their bed.

"You're going to keep an open mind, you hear me?" she ordered, and began to lay out the clothes she had bought. A black sports coat, a white pinstriped shirt, designer blue jeans and posh black shoes. The huge clothes overlapped on the bed and Vincent stared at them in shock.

"Catherine, are you serious?"

"It would mean a lot to me if you would try them on," she said softly.

For a moment it looked like he was going to protest, but he shrugged and began to undo his clothes. "These look expensive."

"I've never legitimately bought you a present before."

He slid the shirt on and made a little "huh" of surprise when he found he could actually button it. "How did you know my size?"

"I measured your clothes. I went to a Big & Tall store. You'd be surprised. I got your pants, like, at the front of the rack."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The smaller sizes are up front."

"Oh." He looked like he was begrudgingly enjoying himself as he slid into the new clothes, and by the time he'd laced up the shoes he was actually posing. "What do you think?"

Catherine started to laugh. His face fell. She got herself under control. "I'm sorry. For a second there you looked like Bon Jovi."

"Who?"

"Metal singer. It's the hair. But the clothes... they look amazing on you, Vincent." She ran her hands over his chest. "They just _fit_. How do they feel?"

"Surprisingly comfortable. Certainly cooler. But awfully exposed."

"Come on. The more you wear, the less you blend in. Less is more."

"Thank you, Catherine," he said sincerely. Catherine laughed awkwardly.

"Ok. Please don't get mad, but I bought a few other things and... no obligation. We don't have to use them. Ok?" Slowly, she opened her purse and extracted the nail file, razor, shaving cream, hairbrush, mousse, and scissors.

"Would this make you happy?"

"It's not about me. I think it would make you happy, though. Or... you know what? It would make me very happy if we could go on a date. See a movie, or a play, or eat out. And I don't think you would agree to take me unless..." She nodded toward the various grooming devices on the bed. "Look, it's nothing to worry about. Everything will grow back."

"I'll do it."

"Really?"

"I've never legitimately bought you a present before." He picked up the scissors and put them into your hand.

"Don't do it for me, Vincent. Do it only for you."

He smiled affectionately. "All right."

He removed his jacket and shirt, and she went to work on his hands, trimming and shaving, exposing the humanness of them. She filed his claws down until they were no longer dangerous. She trimmed his arm fur, too, until he looked mainly like any normal man on the hairier side. She shaved his neck and face, tying back his hair to give her room to work. Then she took the hairbrush and began to smooth out his mighty mane. It was hard work, physically exhausting for her and no doubt painful for him, but the beauty of the clean and fluffy hair was breathtaking. They enjoyed it for a bit, and then she began to cut it. She was experienced enough with men to understand the basics of how their hair worked, that evenness was by far the most important aspect, to cut in small pieces, to taper down at the ears and neck and that it was all right to keep the top long. She was proud of the final result. She used some of her own hair product to style it and then let him look in the mirror.

"It's like... I'm looking at a different person," he whispered. She had no idea if that was a good or bad thing. Really, it could go either way with Vincent. So she just waited. "You say you wish to go on a date?"

She nodded. "I do. A real date, where we can show other people how happy we are together and how lucky I am that you chose me."

"We chose each other."

"Well, fine. We can go to a restaurant I've never been to before. It's a city of 8 million. We won't have to explain ourselves at all." She stood on tiptoe to reach his ear. "You've never legitimately bought me a present before."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. "All right. If worse comes to worse I'll say I'm a rather enthusiastic performance artist."

Catherine's jaw dropped. "Was that a sarcastic joke?"

He nodded with a straight face. They embraced.

Father pointed and shouted when he first saw Vincent's new look. He literally pointed with the hand that wasn't on the cane and went "Ahh!"

"I'll add your opinion to the polls," said Vincent dryly.

"Sorry," said Father shakily. "I meant to say something coherent, but there was simply too much."

"What _do_ you think?" said Catherine as she brushed a few hairs off Vincent's shoulders.

"I believe I have a lot of crow to eat," he said sheepishly.

"Aha."

"Well... you look quite... good. I mean, I'm loathe to comment on popular fashions of the day, of course, but this is a very sharp-looking ensemble. You have good taste, Catherine," he added as he examined the tailoring on the jacket.

"Thank you."

"And the rest of it?" Vincent prompted.

"Ah. Yes. In this matter I must admit myself shocked." He approached slowly, leaning more heavily on his cane than he usually did. "You know i have always loved you and what you are, and I was always convinced of your unique beauty. But never before could I imagine that said beauty could be made into something... mainstream."

It was a touching moment, this moment of realization and regret and subsequent forgiveness between father and son, and Catherine slipped away so they could have it in peace.


End file.
